


I Can't Chase You (But You Can't Run)

by EmmaArthur



Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: Alex is a bit messed up, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Basically a Rom-Com, But with hurt/comfort, Canon Disabled Character, Canon Queer Relationship, First Meeting, Fluff, Getting Together, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mentions of PTSD, Michael never came back to Roswell, RnM secret santa, Self-Worth Issues, Sort Of, holiday au, lots of fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2020-01-08
Packaged: 2021-02-18 15:43:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21962950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmmaArthur/pseuds/EmmaArthur
Summary: Liz and Maria drag Alex to Isobel's winter cabin, thinking it will do him good to get out of rehab for a bit. Alex can't ski, though, so he gets really bored by himself during the day, until Isobel's brother slips on ice and ends up stuck inside with him.(My attempt at a Malex holiday rom-com AU, with just a touch of whump)
Relationships: Background Echo - Relationship, Background Maribel, Michael Guerin/Alex Manes
Comments: 83
Kudos: 248





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [brightloveee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/brightloveee/gifts).



> For my amazing friend Grace.
> 
> I really wanted to post today, but I struggled with this fic quite a bit, and it got longer and longer. So instead of missing the date, I decided to post it in two (possibly three) parts, with the first today, and you'll get a drawn out gift :)
> 
> You asked for a Malex holiday AU, and I live to provide. I know you love rom-coms, but I'm terrible at writing them, so I grabbed a couple of prompts in the wintery prompts that were going round on Tumblr a while ago, and I shuffled and twisted them until I came up with something I felt I would enjoy writing.
> 
> It involved two pairs of crutches, and very awkward boys in love. I hope you like it!
> 
> Here were the prompts:  
> 08\. i slip on some ice and you’re the stranger who catches me (didn't quite use that one, but it inspired me)  
> 10\. our friends rent a cabin to go skiing and we’re the only ones who stay inside  
> 58\. you’re my best friend’s older sibling that I only ever see around the holidays and this year we’re both single
> 
> Many thanks to daffietjuh for helping me figure out the plot and insidious-intent for cheerleading.

_How_ _wa_ _s the party?_ the text from Liz on the group chat reads.

Alex groans. He knows she's teasing him, that she's just worried for him, but right now it doesn't help his abysmal mood.

_Awesome,_ he answers.  _Please get me out of here._

_I wish I could,_ Liz's reply comes immediately.

_I know. Kyle is picking me up in an hour. Pray that I survive until then._

_Liz will pray,_ Maria writes.  _I'll distract you._

_I'm hiding in my old room,_ Alex types. _Told them I needed to do some PT._

_Good move. Does your room still look the same?_

Alex looks around him. It's the room he shared with Flint his whole childhood, the smallest bedroom in the house. It looks smaller than he remembers, even though there's now only one bed, and it's been turned into a guest room. He slept here last night. The worst part about coming back to Roswell for his first Christmas with his father in nine years is that since he's not cleared to drive yet, he couldn't make the trip over a single day, and he had to stay in the house overnight.

Well, not the worst part, just the most annoying.  He still doesn't know if the worst part is the incessant quips and comments from his father about  his  _tastes_ , or spending  hours in silence, watching each other out of the corners of their eyes, straight-backed and, in Alex's case, in near agony from not being able to change position or remove his prosthesis. 

Flint is the only one of his brother who is on leave this year, before he reports to his new unit in Munich in January, and he and Dad clearly have something going on that Alex doesn't know about.  Presents aren't part of the Manes family traditions, so it's only been stilted meals  around the too-large table between the three of them, and an awkward and just as stilted visit to Dad's only living aunt, who lives at the other end of town and seems to think Alex is still four years old.

Alex snaps a selfie showing the nondescript guest room around him. _Nope. Nothing of mine left. Took it all down before I left and gave it away._

He's pretty sure his father would have put it all in the trash anyway. At least this way it went to other teenagers in need of rebellion.

_It looks sad,_ Maria writes back.

_It is sad. Even my rehab room has more personality._ Alex stripped the bed and made it again with military corners, out of habit, though he toyed with leaving the bedding in a pile on the floor. He could have easily justified it, too, since it's surprisingly hard to make a bed standing on one leg. But this particular spark of defiance is long gone from him. He stands up to his father in other ways, now. By outranking him at barely twenty-seven, for example. His father still hasn't digested his decision to become an officer. 

His phone buzzes, and Alex opens the picture Maria just sent. It's her and Mimi in front of a creatively decorated Christmas tree, with, Alex knows, exclusively of hand-made ornaments of the DeLuca family.  _Wish I was here,_ he types.

_Come to the Crashdown with Kyle before you drive back,_ Liz answers. _Dad's making churro pancakes._

_We'll be there too,_ Maria adds.

_Okay,_ Alex writes.  _I can't wait._

Right on schedule−thank God−he hears Kyle's car pull up front. With a sigh of relief, he stands up and grabs his backpack and his crutches to make his way to the living room. Dad and Flint are still sitting at the table, pouring over some documents that look official. Alex doesn't try to see what they're working on.

“Kyle's here to pick me up,” he says.

His father comes to stand in front of him, as usual just close enough to be uncomfortable. Alex has to straighten his spine and look up to him, and he hates it. “I trust you will keep me informed of your recovery,” Dad says.

“Yeah,” Alex nods. Like his father doesn't have his own ways to know about it. All he's really interested in seems to be whether Alex will get discharged or not, anyway.

“Drive safe,” Dad says. For an instant, there's something in his eyes, something that Alex saw only once, the first time Dad came to see him in the hospital. Fear, maybe, just a hint of it. Perhaps if Alex had died, his father would have been affected, after all. Perhaps he's not quite as detached as he pretends to be.

Alex doesn't let it get to him. He can't, if he's going to make it out of this. He nods at Flint, who nods back, just as Kyle rings the bell.

“Goodbye, Dad,” he says, opening the door. He steps out as smoothly as his crutches will allow, and doesn't look back.

“Hey,” Kyle greets him. “Merry Christmas. You ready?”

“You have no idea,” Alex groans.

“Get in, then,” Kyle grins.

The rekindling of their lost friendship, nearly a decade after they last saw each other, came as a real surprise to Alex. His childhood friend turned bully showed up in his hospital room less than a week after he was shipped back, inquiring about finding Alex's name in his father's will, when Alex didn't even know Jim Valenti had died. It turned out that the hospital Kyle is doing a rotation in is just a couple blocks away from Alex's rehab center, and they've had  nearly t hree months of  regular visits to talk. Alex can't forget what Kyle put him through in high school, but Kyle apologized profusely, and it's been a long time. He's ready to forgive.

“Can we stop at the Crashdown?” Alex asks as he folds into the passenger seat. “There's churro pancakes with our names on it.”

Kyle hesitates for a moment. He was probably hoping to drive back before it gets to dark, but he must see how much Alex needs it, because he just nods. Alex smiles at him in thanks. He's not ready to head back to his lonely, sterile room at the rehab center just yet.

Maria, Mimi and Liz are already seated at a table inside the café when they arrive.

“Merry Christmas!” Liz shouts cheerfully as Kyle holds the door open for Alex. They all stand up, but they wait until Alex is seated and has put his crutches away to hug him.

Arturo comes over minutes later with two plates piled up with pancakes. Alex takes a breath and lets the tension seep out of his body, for the first time in days. He's far more at home here, surrounded by his friends, than he ever was in his father's house.

Maria and Liz have visited him in rehab as much as they have been able to, mostly on weekends, but Alex takes the time to update Arturo and Mimi on his progress. Mimi is having a good day, she's mostly lucid and laughing with all of them, as sharp as ever when it comes to teasing them. Alex is glad that Maria can get a peaceful Christmas.

“Is any of you taking an actual vacation?” he asks when they talk about their plans for New Year's day.

“Not me,” Kyle answers. “I'll be home with Mom for New Year's Eve, but this time of the year, doctors are in high demand. Better me than those who have children.”

“My work can spare me for a week,” Liz says. “We're actually going skiing,” she waves to encompass Maria.

“Really?” Alex raises his eyebrows.

“I haven't taken an actual vacation in years, and Mom's sister invited her to her house for a week, so I'm closing the bar,” Maria says.

“It will do you good,” Alex approves. “Are Max and Isobel going too?”

It's still beyond him how his two high school best friends managed to fall in love with a pair of twins while he had his back turned. Max and Liz were friends in school, but Maria and Isobel Evans is a match that baffles Alex. They've been together for two years and they seem to be thriving, though, so he's happy for them.

“Isobel is the one who booked the cabin, actually. We'll be there for a week, and their brother is coming too.”

“Guerin, right?” Alex scourges his memory. “I think I met him once.”

“Michael, yes,” Liz confirms.

“Sounds nice,” Alex smiles, trying not to let the pang of jealousy show. The next couple of weeks are going to be very quiet at the rehab center, as most of his therapists are taking time off and a lot of the patients have gone home. He's probably going to spend his time zoning out on his bed, or aimlessly working out to keep the nightmares at bay.

“I wish you could come,” Maria takes his hand gently, as if reading his thoughts. He wouldn't put it past her.

“It's not like I can ski,” he nods to his crutches.

Liz lights up suddenly. “Wait,” she says. “If you could come, would you want to?”

“Why?” Alex frowns.

“Well, Isobel got a three bedroom cabin, and they all have two beds, so we actually have an extra bed. I know it won't be as fun without skiing, but it would do you good to do something else than rehab, right?”

Alex hesitates, taken by surprise. “I don't know,” he starts. “It's−”

“You'd have to bunk with Michael, of course, or would that be a problem?” Liz continues, already getting excited. “Oh, Alex, it would be great!”

Alex opens his mouth, and realizes he can't say no to that look on Liz's face. He nods, a little reluctantly. It sounds a little daunting. He has yet to really travel since his injury, and there will be logistics to figure out. But maybe Liz is right. Maybe an change of scenery, and being surrounded by his friends for a few days will do him good.

The memory of Isobel and Max's hot, queer brother has absolutely no bearing on his acceptance.

Alex sits up from his position on the floor when his phone buzzes. He opens Liz's text with a swipe.

 _Wish you could see this._ _I hope you're not too bored. See you a_ _t lunch_ _xx._

Alex rolls his eyes and taps the photo she sent him. It shows Max and Maria, in full skiing gear, making faces at each other behind their googles, with the mountain as the background.

_Have fun,_ he writes back.  _Don't worry about me._

Putting the phone back down, hears a car pull up to the cabin. He checks that his prosthetic hasn't twisted during his PT exercises and pulls himself to his feet, helping himself with the grab bar. He's thankful that Isobel at least thought to rent an accessible cabin, where he can actually shower on his own and move around, because it looks like he's going to be stuck inside for the rest of the holidays.

Grabbing his crutches, he makes his way to the front of the cabin. They've been here for a two days already, and the path to the cabin hasn't been properly cleared out after the most recent snow, so on top of not being able to ski with the others, Alex can't even step out without a serious risk of slipping.

He's bored, that's what he is. He loves his friends, but spending his days inside on his own isn't his idea of a good vacation. In  t wo months of impatient rehab and one month in the hospital, he's long run out of TV shows to watch and he's tired of reading.

He can't remember why he let Liz and Maria rope him into this. Oh, right, because he was grouchy and isolating himself, according to them. Well, this vacation is a huge success, isn't it?

Isobel and Max's brother Michael, who is supposed to bunk with him, has yet to make an appearance. He was delayed by some urgent work, apparently. Not that it will change a thing for Alex when he shows up, if he just goes skiing with the others all day.

“Careful,” Alex hears Isobel's voice outside. He frowns. She's supposed to be skiing with everyone else, since Michael apparently announced that he'd rent a car at the airport this morning. But it's Isobel's rental that he can glimpse through the fogged window. Getting both of his crutches in one hand, Alex opens the door.

He doesn't know what he expected, but it's not the scene that greets him. Isobel has pulled up her car as close to the cabin as she could get, like she did when she drove Alex and Liz here two days ago, and she's now walking backwards to the cabin with a backpack and a single shoe in her arms, worriedly watching Michael hop up to the door, leaning on two crutches, one foot bare and bandaged.

“What happened?” Alex asks, frowning. “I thought you−”

“I had to pick this one up at the hospital,” Isobel says, rolling her eyes. “He sprained his ankle coming out of the airport, apparently.”

“I did!” Michael exclaims, offended.

“Well, Michael, this is Alex Manes, Maria's best friend. Alex, Michael Guerin.”

“Guerin,” Alex nods at him, taking a step back to allow both of them through the door. Michael is ridiculously awkward on his crutches, even once in the safety of the cabin. “I would offer to shake your hand, but−”

“Right,” Michael says. “Those are a pain.”

Alex exchanges a look with Isobel, who smirks. “I know,” he says, holding up his own crutches before distributing his weight on them again, letting the door slam close.

“Oh, you too?”

Alex just smiles. “We've met before,” he says. “I would have been in uniform, so you may not remember. At Max and Liz's graduation party five years ago. I was overseas when they got married.”

“I remember you,” Michael winks, sinking into the couch. “How could I forget that face?”

“You were quite drunk,” Alex shrugs.

“I'll put those in your room,” Isobel says, nodding to Michael's bag and shoe. “You're bunking with Alex, by the way.”

“Wait, you didn't even ask him if he was okay with it?” Alex raises his eyebrows, making his way to an armchair. “I have my stuff on the floor, but I'll pick it up in a minute,” he adds.

“I don't mind,” Michael says.

“Good,” Isobel says, sounding like it wouldn't have changed anything to her plan if he had minded. “I've got to go back and pick up the others, it's almost lunch time. We'll be back soon. You two, don't bother trying to cook, we'll get some takeout, okay?”

“Sure,” Alex shrugs. He's been trying to convince her and Liz that he can cook even on crutches−although admittedly cooking for six would be a stretch−but they won't hear any of it. “At least I've got some company.”

“Don't burn down the cabin while I'm gone,” Isobel makes a menacing gesture before stepping back outside.

Alex reels a bit from her departure. She was inside for less than five minutes, a whirlwind of movement, after the quiet morning he's had by himself. And now there's the addition of a near stranger on the couch, who Alex had never talked to, and who doesn't seem to have a clue what to do with a sprained ankle.

“I'll get you some ice for that,” Alex tells him, standing up. He only takes one crutch with him. Now is as good a time as any to start testing how much weight he can put on the prosthesis like his therapist told him to, and he needs to carry back the ice.

“You don't have to−” Michael starts, but Alex is already in the kitchen. The cabin may have three bedrooms, but the living areas are tiny.

Alex grabs one of his ice packs from the freezer, thankful that he brought them in case his stump got irritated during the trip. They'll be useful to someone, at least.

“There,” he hands it to Michael, along with a towel to wrap it in.

“Thanks. This is a bummer.”

“You can remove your coat, you know,” Alex says.

“Oh, right.” Michael is a mess. He's sitting on the couch awkwardly, trying to balance so his injured foot doesn't touch the floor, still in his outside clothes, his crutches on the verge of falling off.

“Let me,” Alex says, limping over. He re-situates the crutches on the floor in front of the couch, where Michael can easily reach them, and helps him out of his coat and hat, putting them on a hook by the front door while Michael removes his remaining shoe.

“Scoot over,” Alex signals him until he's sitting sideways on the couch, his legs extended in front of him. He places a pillow under Michael's bandaged foot and the ice pack on top.

“Oh thanks, that feels good,” Michael sighs contentedly.

“How much does it hurt?” Alex asks.

“Not that bad, I just can't really move it,” Michael answers. “It's just a mild sprain, apparently.”

“Your first?”

“On an ankle, yes. I've sprained my wrists a couple of times.”

Alex nods, and regains his seat slowly, hiding his wince as he puts too much weight on the prosthesis.

“Can I ask−” Michael starts.

Alex bends down to knock his knuckles on his prosthesis. He's still not quite used to the metallic sound it makes. From the outside, he knows his leg looks whole, but the prosthesis is still new enough that he doesn't get to forget it's here.

“Oh,” Michael says eloquently. “Um, I guess I was expecting something−”

“Less permanent?” Alex finishes.

“Yeah, I figured you'd injured your knee or something.”

“I'm off the ski tracks for more than just this year,” Alex shrugs.

“Don't they make prostheses for skiing?” Michael asks.

Alex raises an eyebrow, amused that Michael would know something like that. “Sport prostheses are ridiculously expensive,” he says. “And I didn't like skiing all that much anyway.”

“I'm an engineer,” Michael explains. “I've never worked on prosthetics myself, but I did an internship for a company that made sport wheelchairs in college. You learn all kinds of interesting things.”

“Where do you work now?” Alex asks, because they might as well make conversation if they're going to be stuck together for the next few days.

“In a research lab in Albuquerque,” Michael answers.

“Oh, I didn't realize you lived in New Mexico,” Alex says.

“You're Liz and Maria's friend from high school right? So you're from Roswell?”

“Yeah, but I left at eighteen to enlist and I haven't really looked back,” Alex answers. Until now, that is.

“You in the Army?”

“Air Force. Or I was, at least. I haven't been officially discharged yet, but it's probably a matter of time.”

“So they give you a medal and just let you go, uh?” Michael says.

Alex internally sighs. As much as he knows, from the inside, that the military and its people can be hard to defend, he's had his fill of reheated takes on them. “Something like that,” he says, keeping his face neutral.

“So what are you gonna do now, Private?” Michael asks with a lopsided smirk.

Alex groans. “I think I'm going to go finish my PT,” he says, grabbing his crutches again.

“Wait! What did I say?” Michael protests as Alex walks away. “Hey, I'm stuck here, you can't just go!”

“I'm sure you'll survive on your own for fifteen minutes,” Alex says before he closes the bedroom door behind him. He does need to finish his PT before the others make it back here for lunch, and Michael just worsened his already irritated mood. Who does this guy think he is, so quick with judgment when they've only just met?

Alex lies down on his bed and takes a breath. He knows he's not being fair, that Michael clearly had a shitty morning and he should be empathizing, not sulking. But he's annoyed at everything, today. This vacation, the first time he's gone anywhere since being shipped back, should have been a much needed break from rehab, but it's turned out to be even more lonely. Sure, the two evenings have been nice with his friends, even if they treated it a bit like a double date and he felt superfluous, but the days are stretching out and giving him too much time to think about what he's missing.

He sits back up his head at a knock on the door.

“Hey, can I come in?” Michael asks.

“It's your room too,” Alex says.

Michael opens the door, then awkwardly makes his way inside. “I don't want to overstep boundaries,” he says. “And if you would prefer I sleep on the couch, I will. It's pretty comfy.”

“I've been sharing a room my whole life,” Alex shakes his head. “Three older brothers. And then the Air Force, not always with people I've liked. So I don't mind.”

Michael bites his lip. “I'm sorry for what I said. I tend to speak without thinking first.”

Alex isn't sure he even knows what he's apologizing for, but he appreciates the effort. He nods. “It's fine. I really do need to finish my PT though, and you shouldn't be up.”

Michael looks down at his foot. “True. I'm supposed to keep it elevated.”

He tries to leave the room, while still watching Alex like a hawk, and discovers turning around in a small space while on crutches is not as easy as it looks, especially when you're not paying attention. He nearly falls on his ass before he rights himself. Alex snorts to hide his instinctive move to catch him.

“I didn't think using those was so hard,” Michael says. “I admire you even more.”

“It takes some practice,” Alex shrugs.

“You'll have to teach me, then, since we're going to be stuck here.”

Alex bites back his urge to groan, catching himself imagining his hands on Michael, showing the proper arm position−

Fuck. The guy may be hot, but he is childish and infuriating. And it's not like Alex is looking for someone, or that he has a chance with Michael, for that matter. If him being a man isn't a deal-breaker−he's heard Michael is bisexual, but it was second-hand−then being down a leg will certainly be.

There's no way Michael is flirting with him right now.

“Sure,” he smiles as naturally as possible. “You can start by flexing your wrists outwards to distribute your weight better.”

Michael make an adorable frown as he looks down at his hands. “Like this?”

Alex starts to nod, when he hears the front door open. He's missed the car pulling up during their conversation. Out of an ingrained habit, he jumps to his feet, which sends a spike of pain up his leg.  He gasps, and in turn s tartles Michael, who loses his grip on one of his crutches.

The next moment Alex manages to make any sense of his surroundings, he's hunched over his still cramping leg, and Michael is on his butt on the floor, crutches in a heap. Liz hurries over from the front door, tracking snow and mud all over the living room floor.

“Oh my God, are you two okay”?

Alex takes a moment to breathe through the pain, and he straightens up as the cramp starts to ease. He catches Michael's eyes, and they both burst out laughing.

“Ow,” Michael complains, sitting back against the door frame. “Second fall today, I'm going to be bruised all over. Mostly on my ass.”

Alex snorts. Liz laughs, relieved, and offers him a hand up. Michael hops on his good foot several times before he can find his balance again.

“Alex, you good?” Liz asks.

“Fine,” Alex nods. “Sorry I startled you, Guerin.”

“Nah, that was all me. Don't worry about it.”

“Isobel picked up sushi for lunch,” Liz says. “You hungry?”

“Coming,” Alex answers, picking up his crutches again. He'll have to do his PT later, after all. It's not great, he can feel his leg protest the weight he puts on it as he walks to the living room behind Michael, but it can't be helped.

The others are still getting out of their boots and snowsuits,  while Isobel has grabbed plates and silverware to set the table. Six of them around it is going to be a bit of a tight fit .

“Sit here,” Alex points Michael to a seat, after taking one look at the table. “You can elevate your leg without anyone kicking it.”

“Thank you,” Michael says gratefully, as Alex drags the extra chair over for him to put up his foot. Maria kindly takes both pairs of crutches to lean them against the wall. 

“You two make quite the pair,” Max smirks, turning to his brother. “What the hell happened to you anyway?”

“I tried to get a cab from the airport, but there was a stupid patch of ice on the curb,” Michael explains. “I hate this weather.”

“You were saying the exact opposite when it started snowing,” Isobel points out.

“Yeah, well I was young and stupid then. I know better now. This snow is going to be the death of me.”

Alex laughs with the others at Michael's faked offense. Maria catches his eyes briefly and something in her gaze makes him realize that today is probably the first time he's laughed freely since coming back from Iraq. He blinks at the thought. Michael's antics somehow achieved in half an hour what all of Maria, Liz and Kyle's combined efforts have failed to do for t hree months.

M ax and Isobel keep teasing their brother through lunch, though the conversation turns to the funding application deadline that delayed Michael's coming. Alex learns that Michael is the leading researcher on a spaceship design project,  even  though he doesn't have a tenure track job yet.  He apparently finished his PhD over a year before Liz did, and Alex knows for a fact that Liz raced through the hoops, despite transferring universities several times. In other words, Michael is a genius.

Alex wonders if the people who hail him a hero, who thank him for his service,  ever  feel this inadequate  in front of him. 

H e keeps an eye on Michael as the others get ready to head out again. His smile as he assures his sibling that he'll be fine is just a little tight, and Alex doesn't think he would have noticed if he didn't feel much the same hint of jealousy and resentment. Neither of them will say anything, because their friends deserve to have their fun, but being left behind still stings.

Alex grits his teeth against the added sting of knowing that Michael will be skiing or running in a couple of weeks just fine and he won't. This isn't fair of him and he knows it.

“What should we do?” Michael asks, oblivious to it, when it's just the two of them left in the living room.

“I do really need to do my PT,” Alex answers. And to work through his current tenseness. “We can watch a movie or something after if you want. You should ice your ankle again.”

“What did you do the last few days?”

“Reading, watching Netflix, some coding on my laptop,” Alex lists. “What little workout I can do without equipment.”

“Okay. A movie sounds good.”

Michael throws himself down on the couch, not following Alex's advice about the ice, and grabs the TV remote. Alex shakes his head and head back to his room. Their room. Right. It's not exactly the first time that he's slept in the same room as a guy he's been both attracted to and annoyed by, but being in the same room 24/7 with Michael for the next few days is going to be a challenge. Maybe it will make his vacation interesting, at least.

He hears the TV while he works on his PT, first  awful Christmas adverts then some random daytime program. Michael looks utterly bored when Alex comes back, squirming in the couch like he's aching.

Alex grabs the melted ice pack from the coffee table and gets Michael another one. “Here,” he throws it at him.

Michael jumps and catches it just before it lands smack on his face. “Oh, thanks.  Is there anything worse than daytime TV around Christmas? ”

“Daytime TV every other day of the year,” Alex answers dropping on the couch beside him. “Move over. What do you want to watch?”

“Uh, I don't know, what do you like?”

A lex's instinct is to deflect. Nearly a decade of hiding everything about himself from the Air Force, and a life of being abused and mocked for what he likes leave marks. “I'm versatile,” he shrugs. “Action, sci-fi, thrillers, I've got Netflix, and a bunch of classics on my laptop if you prefer.”

“Star Wars?” Michael asks. “I gotta brush up before the new one comes out.”

“That's in a year,” Alex says flatly.

Michael smirks. “Oh, so you  _are_ a nerd. Thought so.”

Alex groans  at being caught so easily . “Which one do you want?” he asks, grabbing his laptop.

“Start from the beginning? We'll be here for a while.”

Alex doesn't bother to ask if he wants them by release order or chronologically, and sends  _A New Hope_ over to the TV.

It's only when the end credits roll out that he realizes that Michael and him have quote d lines and bickered over their favorite scenes throughout the movie like old friends, without him getting annoyed once.

Maybe Michael isn't so bad after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to post the second part very soon, but I'm going to see my family tomorrow, so I don't know if I'll have time to write or post for a few days. I'll do my best though.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the second chapter! I meant to finish this fic long ago, but it keeps growing. There will be a third chapter, maybe a little shorter, hopefully in the next few days.
> 
> [internalized ableism and homophobia, some crude language]

By the time the others make it back  after their afternoon on the ski p istes , A lex and Michael have watched  _The Empire Strikes Back_ as well  as  _A New Hope_ and shared a bowl of popcorn. 

Alex is starting to regret keeping his prosthetic on, as his leg aches and it's not like he's even using it. He dreads Michael's reaction to seeing him without his leg, though. He's managed to avoid having to remove the prosthesis in front of either Max or Isobel so far, mostly by taking it off during the day so he can keep it longer in the evening, and showering before everyone else is ever awake in the morning. Liz and Maria both came to see him in the hospital and in rehab before he was fitted with the prosthesis, and Alex can't help remembering the horror and pity in their gazes.

He doesn't think he can handle anymore pity. This time, though, it's not like he'll have a choice about it, since Michael is sleeping in the same room. Alex briefly considers taking him up on his offer to sleep on the couch, though he knows he could never ask him that, then he finds himself pondering the f easibility of not removing his leg until they turn off the lights.  He shakes his head at how ridiculous he's being. The way things are going, he'll have to remove it before dinner.

Making the decision, he stands up and heads to the bedroom while his friends recount their afternoon to Michael. He's never been one to put off the uncomfortable once he knows it needs to happen. He takes off his pants, unpins the prosthetic and  removes the lining to wash it,  and replac es it with a compression sock. He grabs a pin from his bag to hold up his pant leg and steels himself before going back out.

Isobel ignores his lack of a leg completely as she perches on the arm of Maria's chair,  while Liz chat ter s on about  skiing . Maria gives Alex a discreet nod of encouragement and a smile, pulling Isobel into her lap. Max's eyes widen a bit, but thankfully that's his only reaction, and he immediately glances back up at his face apologetically. Alex looks away and drops back onto the couch beside Michael.

Michael looks down at his stump, then at his face, and frowns a little. Alex braces himself for some kind of remark.

“I hope you didn't keep it on for my sake,” Michael murmurs, low enough that only Alex can hear.

Alex blinks. That's certainly not what he was expecting. He shrugs, “I'm supposed to keep it on as long as possible.”

“Okay,” Michael says, and he turns back to make the appropriate noises at Liz and Max's explanations.

Alex keeps staring at him for a while, stunned.  Michael must feel it, because he glances back at him, gives him a brief smile, then launches into a story from one of his previous skiing trips, starting a round of more and more ridiculous anecdotes that Alex can actually participate in.

The evening is uneventful, but fun. The cabin is a bit crowded with the six of them, but Alex feels considerably less like the fifth wheel with Michael present. Max, Isobel and Michael recount some of their childhood memories, mostly for Alex's benefit as Liz and Maria look like they've already heard it all, and in turn Liz tells them how she met Alex and Maria on the first day of primary school, and how inseparable they were through school.

After dinner, Alex leans back into the couch he and Michael are sitting in again and he finds Michael's arm against his neck. Their eyes meet briefly, but Michael doesn't move.

Alex tries not to read too much into it. He's strangely giddy and agitated when he gets ready for bed, but surely that's just because he hasn't actually shared a room since coming back from Iraq. It's not because Michael keeps finding excuse s to touch him at every turn.  And Alex is not at all giving him those excuses by crowding his space around the bathroom sink.

M ichael gives him a little smile, just before Alex turns off the light, and Alex falls  a sleep with that picture in his head. For the first time in months, he hasn't even worried about waking up screaming from a nightmare.

For the first time in months, he doesn't wake up at all until morning.

“Hey.”

Alex looks up from where he's propped up on pillows on his bed, squinting at his laptop, to see Michael come in, fully dressed but barefoot. He was barely up when the others left to get on the pistes before the morning rush and he just hopped straight to the bathroom, so Alex hasn't seen him yet this morning.

“There's breakfast for you on the table,” he says.

“Thanks. Showering on one foot is a pain,” Michael whines, sitting heavily on his own bed.

“That's what the shower chair is for,” Alex says. “You didn't use it?”

Michael gapes. “I...didn't even think of it,” he says. “Wow.”

Alex gives him an amused look. “Isobel got the most accessible cabin available,” he says. “She had to change the whole booking and speak to the manager for an hour, just for me. If she hadn't, you'd be bitching about things a lot more right now.” He's still impressed and thankful that Isobel was willing to go to such lengths. She did it all by herself, too, w ithout  either he no r Maria ask ing  for anything. Alex would have made do with a regular−meaning inaccessible−place if he had to, although it would have been far from ideal.

“I had no idea,” Michael admits. “I noticed there's more grab bars than usual, but...I didn't pay much attention, I guess.”

“It takes some practice.” Alex goes back to his laptop, writing an email to his CO about his possible discharge, until he sees Michael gingerly prod his foot. “Want me to help you wrap it up?” he asks.

Michael looks up at him. “It's a little better than last night, I think?”

Alex sets his laptop aside to take a look. Michael's ankle is still red and swollen, but it does look like Michael can move his foot more than yesterday. He wraps the ace bandage around it carefully but firmly, checking it until he's sure it's secure. “You should still avoid putting weight on it today,” he says. “Not until the swelling goes down.”

“You a doctor?” Michael jokes.

“I learned basic field medicine as part of my training,” Alex says. “And I've had my fair share of sprains.”

Michael nods, and tests the new dressing by hopping over to the living room. “You ready to continue our marathon?”

“I've got nothing better to do,” Alex follows him. He'll finish his email later. He need to think more about what to write, anyway, and sitting on the couch with Michael watching Star Wars for the umpteenth time is actually fun.

They hold their breath through Luke's fight and whoop together at Han and Leia's kiss, and for maybe the first time in his life, Alex is unashamed of loving this movie with all his heart.

“What about Finn and Poe?” Alex tests the waters, after they've started discussing the new movies, and the disaster that would be Rey ending up with Kylo Ren.

“Disney will never make it happen, but they _need_ to get together,” Michael says immediately.

Alex smiles in agreement. “If only. We can always fantasize, though.”

“You got anyone in your life?” Michael asks.

“No,” Alex shakes his head. “My job's not the best for long term relationships. Especially not the kind I...look for.”

“Guys, you mean?” Michael asks. “Liz said you were out in high school.”

“Yeah, guys. It's legal now, but it doesn't mean it's easy. And I was in Iraq for most of the last year.”

It didn't prevent him from looking at guys, of course. From getting close to a few of them, even, too close for his own good. They didn't stick around.

Alex doesn't share that, though.

“And no one since then?” Michael asks.

Alex grimaces. “Nah. All my therapists are women,” he hears himself quip. Who'd want to hook up with a one-legged man, anyway?

“So you spend most of your days in a gym and you don't even have some hot guys with abs to stare at?” Michael asks in mock shock.

“It's a VA hospital,” Alex says. “All vets or active service members. There's plenty of abs, don't worry. I'm just more focused on getting out of there.”

Michael watches him for a second. “Makes sense,” he says simply.

“You have anyone?” Alex asks him back.

“I'm a well-known serial heartbreaker, but nothing serious in a while, no.”

“Women?” Alex dares to ask, since the subject is already on the table.

“Mostly, but not always,” Michael smiles, tilting his head. “I had a lot of quick flings and casual sex as an undergrad, with just about anyone that crossed my path. I've calmed down a lot since. Did you know I dated Maria before Isobel?”

“What?” Alex asks, shocked. “Seriously?”

“Yeah. Isobel was still with Noah back then, it was a long time ago. Liz and I were taking a lot of the same classes as juniors, and she brought me to Maria's bar once when I was in Roswell visiting Isobel. We had a thing for a few months before we realized we were better friends than lovers. But that's how Maria and Isobel met.”

“I had no idea,” Alex laughs. “I missed a lot, didn't I?”

“You were living your own life,” Michael shrugs.

Alex bites his lip. “Not really,”  he says, looking away. “I never thought Liz and Maria would welcome me back into their lives so easily. I mean, we remained friends, but it was nearly all long distance, I wasn't even at Liz's wedding. I thought−”

“I've never seen Maria as worried as she was when she heard you'd been injured. And Liz only once, when Rosa OD-ed and nearly died when we were freshmen. They really care about you.”

“I know.” Alex closes his eyes. He just doesn't know what he did to deserve it. He's been terrible at keeping up with their lives the last nine years.

“I can see why, now,” Michael says quietly.

Alex opens his eyes again in surprise. Michael is looking at him with a softness that feels almost like a punch to his gut.

“You care about them too,” Michael adds, and Alex can only nod. “I don't...I have a complicated relationship with the concept of family, but I know about choosing your own. And those girls? They've chosen you. They're not letting you go, now.”

A lex swallows hard. “Thank you,” he mutters, staring straight ahead. 

Michael breaks his too intense gaze on Alex, but he doesn't move.

“You and Max and Isobel,” Alex says after a while. “You're really close, too, aren't you?” He's observed the siblings' interactions, the light banter and complicit smiles between them. It's nothing like Alex's relationship with his own brothers, but then he supposes most sibling relationships aren't.

“Yeah,” Michael smiles. “I'd do about anything for Isobel. Max and I had some rough patches, but we're really good now.”

“Why is your last name different from theirs?” 

“It's a long story,” Michael answers.

Alex tries to discern if that's code for “I don't want to talk about it,” but Michael's face is open. “Just warning you,” he adds, as if he read Alex's thoughts.

“We have all day,” Alex shrugs.

“Good point. Um, well, we don't really know if we're related at all, but we weren't raised by the same parents.”

Alex frowns. “I don't understand. You're not their brother?”

“We think of each other as family, but no, not exactly. We were found together in the desert when we were seven. None of us has any memory of where we came from, and no one ever came forward to claim us, so we ended up in a group home. We were there together for about six months before Max and Isobel were adopted by the Evanses.”

“They adopted them but not you?” Alex asks. “Sounds rough.”

“It felt...rough, yeah. But they're good people. I was bounced around various foster families until I aged out of the system, and we didn't see each other again. I thought they'd probably forgotten all about me, but when I started college, I found them again with some research, and they still thought of me as their long lost brother.”

There's a shine in Michael's eyes as he recounts that.  Alex can see his love for Max and Isobel, but also the pain, deeply buried, the loneliness. It's one he recognizes, on a profound level, even if his own history is different.

“I have three brothers,” he shares in return. It seems only fair. “We don't get along very well. They're all enlisted too, we've been a military family for generations.”

“So your parents too?”

“My father,” Alex answers, feeling his mouth twist into a bitter smile. “My mom left when I was a kid.”

“I take it you don't get along with him either?”

“Nah. He's been a dick my whole life and it's not gonna change any time soon.”

Michael doesn't comment, but Alex sees his gaze on him change just a little, like it did when he became conscious of Alex's disability. And once again, Alex isn't sure at first what it is he's seeing, but he think it's respect, not pity.

It's fucking refreshing.

Michael is still sleeping when Alex wakes up with the sun on N ew Year's Eve. It's been a while since he last slept  in  this late, probably not since the early days after his injury when his body used up all its energy to heal.  The night wasn't as quiet as the last one, he woke up a couple of times covered in sweat and had to bite his pillow, but he doesn't think he woke Michael up, so it's fine.

He watches Michael snooze for a minute, adorable with his mouth half open and his hair tousled. He want to touch that hair, slip his hand into it to wake Michael up.

Alex shakes off of these unbidden thoughts. He figures that the strong desire he feels for something so simple, yet so unattainable comes from touch starvation. Besides Michael's playful shoulder bumps yesterday, Liz and Maria are the only people who have touched him in a non medical way in the last few months, and that was only the occasional hug.

“Hey,” Michael mutters, opening an eye. “Up already?”

“It's seven,” Alex shrugs.

“Way too early,” Michael decides, putting his pillow on his head. The cabin doesn't have proper blinds, and their window is oriented east, so the rising sun shines right through. Alex knows the forecast warns of a snow storm for tonight, but there's no sign of it just yet, and the sky is beautiful in shades of orange.

Alex smiles. This vacation isn't so bad, after all.

Liz is already eating breakfast at the table when he makes his way there.  She takes one look at him, and points to the seat across from her. Alex grabs himself a cup of coffee, limps his way to the table with one crutch, and  obediently sits down.

“Spill,” Liz says around her oatmeal.

“Spill what?”

“You've been brooding for days, and you emerge this morning an hour later than usual with stars in your eyes. What changed?”

Alex raises his eyebrows. “Nothing? I don't know what you're talking about.”

“It's Mickey, isn't it?”

It takes Alex longer than it should to figure out who she's talking about. “You call him  _Mickey_ ?”

“So it _is_ him,” Liz nods. “Good for you. He's a good guy.”

“Wait, wait, I didn't tell you it was him. Or anyone.”

“Your face told me.”

“Nothing happened, Liz,” Alex sighs, resting his chin on his hand.

“Do you want anything to happen?” Liz asks curiously.

“I...I don't know. I don't know if I'm ready, and I'm not sure he wants to.”

“Come on, Alex, he was _obviously_ flirting last night.”

Alex didn't think Liz noticed, but he doesn't deny it. “There's a gap between flirting and wanting to be with...someone like me,” he says.

“You mean a guy? Michael's been with men before.”

“That...it was not really your place to tell me that, Liz,” Alex states flatly. Liz opens her mouth in surprise. “It's alright, I already knew. And I didn't mean a guy.”

Liz's eyes flitter to his crutches. “ You think it'd bother him?”

“I think it would bother anyone, Liz.”

“It wouldn't bother me. It doesn't bother me.”

Alex gives her a dubious look.

“No, look at me. It doesn't bother me, Alex. You're the same to me with or without your leg. I'm only sad that you have to go through so much pain.”

Alex doesn't point out how much more complicated the issue is, because he knows she knows. She knows a little, at least, about the looks,  the  disdain , the rampant ableism. About the bad days whe re he can do nothing but lie in bed and grit his teeth. The “friends” who didn't bother to check up on him, his brothers who didn't show up in the hospital, his father who can barely look at him. And the worse, the pity, the discomfort in people's eyes whenever he doesn't go to great lengths to pretend nothing is wrong. Alex talks to Liz often enough that she knows all that, she's his best friend. So he lets it slide and he lets his heart be warmed by her kindness.  Liz grabs his hand and doesn't let it go until Max comes out of the bathroom and she stands up to take her turn.

M ichael makes his appearance a few minutes later, still bleary-eyed and wearing pajamas. He drops into Liz's abandoned chair, letting his crutches clatter to the floor in favor of rubbing his eyes.

“Coffee?” Alex asks, amused.

“Please,” Michael answers greedily.

Alex goes to refill his own mug and get a second one for Michael. He balances both mugs in one hand, a crutch in the other.

“Oh. Sorry,” Michael says when he sees him struggling not to spill any coffee while limping back to the table. “Didn't think.”

“It's fine, see?” Alex puts his mug down in front of him.

“Thanks.”

Isobel comes out of her room then, already dressed and made-up−she and Maria got the room with the small  en-suite bathroom−dragging a sleepy Maria behind her. “Morning!” she  says cheerfully.

“Too early,” Michael shakes his head, and Maria nods in agreement. Alex smirks as he meets Isobel's eyes, and they both have to hide their laughter.

T he short moment of camaraderie, before Isobel composes herself and starts making proper breakfast, strikes Alex as the most  normal , domestic moment he's had in a year. It feels good. He hasn't felt this much like himself in too long. He's resigned to having to grieve for the person he used to be,  the life he used to have, but right now he can almost feel whole again.

It's gone quickly, but it lifts Alex us for long enough that h e doesn't even feel a pang to see his friends head out to ski without him again. He's looking forward to being alone with Michael, even. He's truly enjoying the other man's company.

Liz's questions keep him company while Michael disappears in the bathroom, and Alex takes the time to do his PT. Michael has shown, quite clearly, that he's open to more, and a part of Alex wants to take him up on it, take the risk. But the rational part knows that it can't go anywhere. Alex is a mess, still in rehab, unable to provide for himself, his mental health all over the place. He can't commit to a relationship right now.

And he can't imagine that Michael will stick around, once he finds out what kind of baggage Alex comes with.  It's already a miracle that he didn't run the moment he saw his stump. No one can accept that much and not blink an eye.

A lex is so distracted that his PT takes  twice as much time as it should, and he spaces out t hree separate times while Michael rambles  at him about  something engineering related that he'd usually be interested in.

“Earth to Alex?” Michael snaps his fingers, his smile looking like it's some kind of inside joke to him.

“Sorry,” Alex says sheepishly. “Just thinking. You want to continue our movie marathon?”

Michael tilts his head. “Sure, if that's what you want,” he says.

Alex tries to pretend he doesn't see the blatant overture, and turns on the TV.

Halfway through the movie, just after Alex asks for a break to stretch his leg, his phone starts buzzing. Alex looks at the caller ID and feels his heart start racing. “Shit,” he mutters. Thankful that he was already standing, he makes his way into the bedroom and closes the door before he answers.

“Manes,” he says, purposefully using just his last name, “What do you want?”

Jesse Manes sighs disapprovingly. “I can't just call my son on New Year's Eve?”

Alex just waits.

“I wanted to talk about your future in the Air Force.”

Alex rolls his eyes. His father and Flint basically interrogated him about his plans over Christmas.  “What about it?”

“You don't have to accept a medical discharge. Your skills are useful enough for them to keep you.” His tone is in direct contrast with the pride he faked at the hospital, and at every ceremony where Alex was given decorations. He sounds disgusted that Alex can be considered valuable to anyone.

“I don't know if I want to stay,” Alex says.

His father dismisses it straight away.  “ I reached out to some contacts, they'll get you assigned to a desk in Roswell. There's a project you can help me with.”

Alex sputters.  “It's already done?”

“Your file is being reviewed as we speak.”

Alex swallows, willing his hands to stop trembling. He has to force himself to get the words out. “Dad. I didn't ask for this. I don't want to come back home.”

“Consider your options carefully,” Dad says like he's speaking to a five-year-old. “It's either that or getting discharged. Do you really want to be out of a job?”

Alex bites back a scream of frustration and hangs up on him. He'll surely be given a hard time later for that, but if they're on military ground, he'll actually have ranking authority. How is it that even now that he's outranked his father, the man can still control so much of his life?

Gritting his teeth, Alex stands up and situates his crutches under him, heading toward the front door. He needs to do something, to move, or this anger inside him is going to explode. At Michael, probably, since he's the only one there, and he doesn't want to ruin the friendship they're building.

“Alex? What going on?” Michael asks from the couch.

“Nothing, I just need some air,” Alex answers without looking back, putting on his coat. “I'm going to sit outside.”

“You tired of me, Private?”

Alex rolls his eyes. “It's Captain,” he says. “And I'm tired of being cooped-up. I don't want to risk slipping on the ice, though, so I'm just going to sit on that bench over there.” He points to a small bench they can see from the window, just outside the cabin. It's close enough to Max's parked car for the path to it to have been cleared by the heat of the cars and the others walking in and out.

“You mind if I come with?” Michael asks.

Alex pauses, assessing whether he really wants to be alone with his thoughts. He doesn't. “Sure. If you can get your foot inside a shoe. It's too cold to go barefoot.”

“I've got some ski socks. Beside, the swelling has really gone down, it's barely painful anymore.”

“Okay. Join me when you're ready,” Alex says. He's too restless to wait, and already too warm with his coat on.

The outside air is freezing, his breath immediately turning to mist. Alex closes the door behind him as quickly as he can, and carefully makes his way to the bench. He has to check where he puts the tips of his crutches and each foot with each step, so it's slow going.

It's cold enough that he knows he won't be able to stay for long. He can't afford to let his stump go numb, and he hasn't put on gloves,  as they don't go well with crutches. Instead, he sits on the bench−cold under his pants, but thankfully dry−and sticks his hands in his pocket to warm them up.

Being outside feels good, after spending too much time indoors. But Alex can't help go back to thinking about his father. The thought of going back to Roswell long-term, of living in the same town as Jesse Manes, terrifies him. He would be close to Maria, of course, and he knows Kyle is starting a rotation in Roswell in the summer, but the prospect is still frightening.

Alex curses at himself internally. He's twenty-seven. Why is he still scared of his father? What is the man going to do to him that he hasn't already done? He's made his life a nightmare, even when he's thousands of miles away, by beating into Alex that he can't ever be himself. Talking to him over the phones for five minutes has Alex shaking, his thoughts racing and his breathing ragged.

Yes, Jesse Manes still fucks him up. There's no way Alex can go back to Roswell. He focuses on taking deep breaths, letting the cold air burn his lungs until he coughs. Fuck.

After a  few  minute s , Michael emerges from the cabin, ridiculously awkward with one snow shoe on and a thick sock on his injured foot. He almost slips twice on the way to the bench, unable to grip the crutches properly with his gloves.  Alex watches him, fighting the urge to go and help him since it would only make matters worse.

“I don't know how you do it,” Michael whines when he's finally sitting beside Alex. One of his crutches slip down to the floor and he curses, bending to get it back.

Alex smirks. “Trade secret,” he says.  Somehow, Michael lifts his mood just by being there. Not for the first time, he catches himself longing for more, staring at his curls peeking out from under the winter hat. Michael's nose is red from the cold, and he looks adorable.

“Pleaaaase,” he pouts.

“No gloves,” Alex answers, showing him his bare hands. “It only works as long as you can feel your fingers, though,” he shivers and hides them in his pockets again.

“Yeah, we probably shouldn't stay out here too long.”

“It's nice, though,” Alex says, nodding to the landscape around them. The cabin is a little isolated from the holiday village, so they're surrounded by snow-covered trees and hills. The horizon is dark and stormy, promising some bad weather soon, but over them the sun is shining, making the white of the snow bright enough to hurt the eyes. It's a perfect winter picture. Alex takes out his phone and quickly snaps a few photos.

“Selfie?” Michael asks.

“Sure,” Alex switches to the front camera. Michael leans against him, his chin on Alex's shoulder, and Alex freezes for a second before he manages to take the picture. They're both smiling and squinting a little against the sun.

Alex takes a few more shots, then slips his phone and hands back into his pockets, teeth shattering. He looks at Michael, who is still closer to him than the thickness of their winter coats warrants. Michael brings one gloved hand up to Alex's cheek, pulling him closer, and their m ouths meet.

The start of the kiss is cold and stiff like their lips. Michael pulls back  a little  when Alex doesn't kiss him back, looking at him with concern and hope and lust. Alex's thoughts are a maelstrom of feelings and fears, and he almost breaks out of Michael's embrace. But strangely, it's his father's words on the phone that make Alex decide.

F uck his father, h e thinks, leaning into the kiss.  Michael's tongue slip into his mouth.  This feels good. He can allow himself this. He can allow himself to fall in love.

Except−

Except that thought takes him right out of the moment. Is he falling in love with Michael? Now, just two days after they met? No, it's not possible. He can't fall in love with someone like Michael, someone who could never love him back. Michael is a genius, a perfect, gorgeous person that deserves so much better than Alex.

And Alex swore to himself that he wouldn't let it happen again, that he wouldn't set himself up to get his heart broken. It hurts too much.

Brusquely, he pulls away, feeling a sob start at the back of his throat. He swallows convulsively and grabs his crutches to flee.

He almost slips and falls too many times on the way back to the cabin, but he miraculously makes it unscathed and in record time, tears already clouding his vision.

“Hey!” Michael calls from behind him, just before he slams the door close. “If this is the 'dramatic running' part of our rom-com, I literally can't chase you!”

Alex feels bad for leaving him alone out there, but he can't handle it. Michael probably believes that they can have a fling while they're out here, away from the world, and never speak to each other again. Or maybe he thinks he actually likes Alex enough to attempt a relationship, but there's just too much he doesn't know. Alex  can't  l et himself hope and stand there until M ichael runs away screaming, when he finds out just how damaged Alex is. He can't afford to.

Except, the bitter tears falling down his face tell him, you're already falling for him.

Fuck. Alex sheds his coat and hat, dries his s neakers as much as he can −proper snow shoes are too heavy for his prosthesis− then heads to his bedroom to remove his prosthesis from his cold, aching residual limb. Michael was so adorable here this morning, half asleep and bleary-eyed. Fuck. His kiss is still on Alex's lips, the taste of his tongue and the warmth of his mouth. Double fuck. Alex is  _fucked._

He doesn't know how long he sits on his bed, staring into space. He hears the front door open and close after a while, and Michael whisper curses as he moves around the living room, but he doesn't pay attention for long. He slowly massages his stump until the blood flow is fully restored instead. The scars there, the missing foot remind him of why he can't just go into the other room and kiss Michael senseless.

Alex hates that he even needs the visual reminder.

After a while, there's a knock on his door. Alex doesn't answer, hoping Michael will give up and leave him alone.

“Alex, I just want to know that you're alright,” Michael says.

Alex groans internally. So this is because he's disabled, too impaired to take care of himself, is it? Maybe Michael is just like everyone else, after all. Doing all this out of pity

“I don't need your concern,” he snaps.

“Okay, okay, I'll leave you alone. But we should talk. I understand if you don't want to...you know, but we're still stuck here for three more days, we can't just avoid each other forever.”

“I'm not avoiding you,” Alex says, dimly registering how ridiculous he's being. But he can't face Michael right now. He can't look him in the eye and tell him he doesn't want him.

Michael sighs loudly. “Fine,” he says. “Whatever you want. I'll just be over there.”

Closing his eyes, Alex lies down on his bed and curls up on himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't kill me for leaving you with a bit of a cliff-hanger!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the last chapter! This fic is now officially three times longer than I intended. It gets a little angsty here and explores some consequences of trauma, so protect yourself if you need to (not extremely heavy though).
> 
> [internalized ableism and homophobia, including slurs, panic attack, crude language, mentions of war, PTSD]

Alex refuses to look at Michael through lunch, despite the odd looks the others are giving him. He crosses his arms against his chest and doesn't answer Liz's questions, pointedly changing the subject every time their activities of the morning come up.

Michael, when he glimpses him through the corners of his eyes, just looks sad. He stays shoulder to shoulder with Isobel at the table, like he needs the contact, and he eats about as much as Alex does, which is less than half their plates.

Alex's resolve wavers, but he only needs to think of his father to remind himself why he can't give in.  Of all the time s he got his heart broken because no one could handle the mess that is his life, the baggage he comes with.  Michael isn't going to be any different.  It's best to just cut it short, before he gets attached.

T he moment everyone has gone out to ski again, Alex shuts himself in the bedroom with his laptop, and he doesn't come out.  Michael doesn't try to knock again, thankfully. Alex can hear the TV, with its mindless daytime programs,  and he can't help imagining Michael brooding in front of it, bored out of his mind.  But it's not enough to make him get up.

T he afternoon goes agonizingly slowly. Alex dreads the coming evening, where he'll have to stay up until late for the stupid celebration of a random day of the year and pretend to enjoy the party. With Michael. Fuck.

He distract himself with trying to disentangle the intricate mess his father has put him in. H e figures out that J esse has somehow requested the Roswell posting  _on behalf_ of Alex, as his father, like he's still a child, and not through his own channels. It means that Alex can probably fix it, request something else, but it's going to take time and several phone calls that can't be made on New Year's Eve. Jesse Manes chose his time of the year well. If he hadn't called−to gloat, Alex understands now, to assess once again how much control he has over him−Alex might not have found out until it was too late.

He can  also  still choose to just take the medical discharge and try his hand at something else. Alex is reasonably sure he could get a computer tech job easily, maybe even a military contracted one, but he doesn't know if he's read y to leave the structure of the Air Force behind just yet. It seems too big a change, on top of everything else he has to get used to.

Knowing that this is a terrible time to make any kind of decision on the matter, Alex loses himself in coding. It always works to calm him down, almost as well as playing the guitar and singing used to work before he swore off music altogether. He gulps convulsively against the memory of his father making a bonfire of his guitar and his band tee-shirts and posters, days after Alex's graduation from high school, and he types away instead,  working his way through a little Java program that he may or may not intend to upload to his father's computer when it's done. He almost smiles when he finally runs the code and it inundates his computer with kitschy kitten pictures  and rainbow flags  every time he tries to open a file.

“We're back!” Maria's loud voice shakes him out of his focus. 

Alex jumps and puts his laptop aside. He hears Michael greet their friends while he quickly works on putting his prosthetic back on.

Michael's gaze on him, sad and sorry, hits him as soon as he opens the bedroom door. Alex realizes he'd almost managed to forget why he was hiding out there.

“How was your afternoon?” he asks Maria, wincing when his voice doesn't sound as enthusiastic as he tried to make it.

Maria clearly notices, but she just frowns slightly. “Pretty good. Liz fell on the  steepest slope, but she's fine.”

Alex immediately checks on Liz anyway, meeting her gaze. She nods with a smile. Max has an arm around her back, and she winces a little leaning into him, meaning that she's probably bruised, but Alex can't see any obvious injury.

“You're back early,” he says, checking his watch. They hadn't planned on coming back for another hour.

“We wanted to spend a bit more time with you,” Max says. “It's New Year's Eve, you two shouldn't be stuck here on your own.”

They were worried, Alex translates. Dammit. He should have at least pretended to be fine with Michael over lunch.  The last thing he wants is to ruin everyone's vacation with his mood swings.

“You should take advantage of the time you have to ski,” he says.

“We'll have other days,” Maria shrugs. “It's fine. It was enough for today anyway. And we're not going tomorrow.”

“Why?” Michael asks.

“It's New Year Day, we're staying in with you of course!” Liz exclaims.

“Right,” Alex raises his eyebrows. “So it has nothing to do with the fact that the ski resort will be closed because of the impending storm?”

“Nothing at all!” Liz defends herself. “How do you even know that?”

“Liz, I'm a computer expert stuck in a winter cabin with WiFi. How do you think I'm keeping myself occupied?”

“Well, at least there _is_ WiFi, right?”

Alex groans. “There wasn't, until I spent two hours on the phone with the renting company and ended up fixing it myself on our first day here,” he says.

“Well, thank you for fixing it!” Liz smiles innocently. Alex rolls his eyes.

He avoids having to sit in his now usual spot by Michael on the couch by going to the kitchen to get himself a glass of water.  He can fake his way through an enjoyable evening with all of them, but sitting by Michael, having him closer than he usual lets anyone, is too much for now. 

But he's miscalculated, by giving Maria enough time to sit in the armchair. Liz and Max are already on the second couch and Isobel is sitting on the ottoman, which means the only space left is by Michael. There's a moment of tension everyone can feel, and Alex seriously considers just heading back to his room, but Isobel breaks it by clapping her hands. “There's a lot of cooking to do if we're going to celebrate properly!” she exclaims.

“I'll help,” Alex says immediately.

Michael opens his mouth, then gives him a look and closes it.

“I'll need a minute, but I'll come and help too,” Liz says. “Just need to ice that bruise.”

“My ice packs are in the freezer,” Alex tells her. “I can−”

Max stands up and waves at him to stay put. “I'll get one,” he says.

In the kitchen,  Isobel takes charge. Alex insists that she can put him to work, as long as it doesn't require too much standing around, and he soon finds himself peeling carrots and potatoes while Isobel starts making the cornbread.  She's an excellent organizer. Alex knew about her job as an event planner, of course, but he's never seen her at work,  as she mostly let Liz and Maria cook s o far .

“What's going on between you and Michael?” she asks point blank, sitting across from him at the table once the bread is in the oven.

“What do you mean?” Alex asks.

“Don't play that game with me. You're not exactly discreet.”

Alex sighs. “Nothing's going on, Isobel. We had a...miscommunication, that's all.”

Isobel looks at him thoughtfully. “Michael came at you too fast, didn't he? He can be a lot. I told him to go slow.”

“You two talked about me?” Alex blinks.

“Of course we did. He's my brother. And Max is too clueless to be of any use.”

“He didn't do anything wrong,” Alex says. “I just...I can't.”

“Why?”

A bit taken aback by Isobel's directness, Alex doesn't have a ready-made answer. What can he tell her of his inner turmoil? None of his reasons sound good, said aloud. It's not something he can rationalize.

And that's exactly the problem.

“Do you like him?” Isobel asks when he doesn't answer straight away.

Alex sighs. “Yes,” he decides to be honest. “It's not about him.”

“So it's about you.”

Alex nods.

“I don't know you very well, Alex, and it's not my place to pry. But I've rarely seen Michael as excited about someone as he is about you. And he's a good guy. He looks a little scruffy, but he wears his heart on his sleeve.”

Alex has noticed. Day and night, compared to Isobel, who is always perfectly put together. “Why are you even telling me that?” he asks.

“Because you're a good guy too. Maria can't shut up about you, and if you weren't gay, I'd be worried about my couple. But she just wants the best for you, and I want the best for Michael.”

“And you think we're a good match,” Alex states.

“Yes. You're calm and collected, you think before you act, everything he needs to balance him out. And he's already head over heels in love with you.”

Alex almost cuts his finger in shock. He drops the lee k he was cuttin g and the knife, and closes his eyes to take a breath.

Michael's in love with him? Interested, yes. Flirting. But in love? They met two days ago, for heaven's sake.

Which apparently didn't stop _Alex_ from getting attached.

Fuck.

“I'm not,” he says.

“Not what? In love with him?”

Alex shakes his head. “I'm not a good guy.”

“Why? Because you went to war? You're literally a hero, Alex.”

“Yeah,” Alex smiles bitterly. “You know what they say, you kill one person and you're a murderer, but you kill thousands and you're a hero?”

“I don't think that's the actual quote,” Isobel frowns. “And you're not a murderer. I'm sure you've seen things that none of us can even imagine, and yet you come back just as compassionate and kind as you left. Maybe more.”

“Do you really want your brother to date a cripple?” Alex says flippantly.

Isobel looks so unimpressed that he winces. “I'm not even going to dignify that with an answer. But if you're afraid that he' ll run away  because of that , well...wouldn't he have already?”

Alex grits his teeth. “My leg's not the only issue,” he says.

“Alex, I can't make the choice for you. But you at least owe it to him to tell him you don't want him. Don't leave him hanging.”

A lex closes his eyes and buries his face in his hands, before he remembers from the smell that he's also been cutting onions. He removes his fingers from his  stinging  eyes with a start. “Yeah”,  he murmurs. “I know.”

The meal is a success, at least cooking-wise.  Isobel's corn bread, Liz's black-eyed beans and the pork and vegetable stew Alex contributed to make up a hearty, lifting last meal of the year. Isobel bought an ice cream cake for dessert, saving them the trouble of baking.

Alex is stuck at the same end of the table as Michael, through his own fault since he was the one who pointed out that this configuration was the most comfortable for them.

“We'll talk after eating,” he tells Michael from the beginning, rather than letting them avoid each other's gaze uncomfortably all evening. Alex doesn't really want to turn down Michael's hopes just before the New Year, but he doesn't see another choice. He's still hoping that Michael's infatuation is just that, and nothing like the twisty feeling Alex already feels in his gut at the idea of walking away from him.

Isobel's words didn't leave a lot of space for that hope, though. He thinks about what she said all evening, and he must appear a little spaced out as a result, because b oth Liz or Maria call his name several time to get him to participate in the conversation.

“So what are you all looking forward to in the new year?” Maria asks from beside him.

“Finally starting that research project that just got founded,” Liz says immediately. She's talked about it several times already, and Alex knows she's excited about it, though he realizes he hasn't really shown interest in her activities. He promises himself to do better.

“I've got a book coming out in February, and then another toward the end of the year,” Max says. “It's going to be a busy year for both of us. This vacation was a really good idea, I don't know when we'll be able to take time off again.”

“Yes,” Alex interjects. “I wanted to say thank you again for inviting me. It was really last minute, and that was really kind of all of you.”

“Even if you couldn't ski with us?” Liz asks.

“Yes, of course. It was nice to take a break from rehab.”

“I'm glad you came,” Maria says, and Alex feels his heart warm a bit, meeting his two best friends' eyes.

“Me too,” he nods.

“Okay, in the new year, I'm looking forward to spending more time with you,” Maria says. “With all of you, but we have nine years to catch up with Alex. So I hope you don't move too far away.”

Alex nods and pulls her closer for a side hug, trying not to think about the Roswell affectation he's in the process of changing. “I'll try.”

“I want to take on more big events,” Isobel says. “Get this business off the ground. Michael?”

“Last year you asked the same, and I said I wanted a full time job,” Michael starts. “Now that I have that...this year I want to make a home for myself.”

He meets Alex's eyes, briefly, at the word 'home', and Alex senses that he doesn't just mean a nice apartment, though Isobel immediately rambles on about getting him a place closer to campus and helping him decorate. Michael's longing look is too strong, too intrusive. Alex looks away.

He thinks of home. The home he never really had in Roswell, never made anywhere else. He thinks about the two men from his unit who didn't make it home to their families this year and almost chokes.  H e thinks of the e nd of last year, when he was getting ready to leave for his year-long third tour. It ended up being cut short by his injuries, he should have just been coming back home  now . Or stateside, anyway. He doesn't have a home.

Isobel reminds them that it's Alex's turn  to say what he looks forward to ,  but  he comes up short. “Walking again,” he ends up saying, and everyone nods their understanding, like it's obvious, like it's the worthiest goal of all.  But it's not. Walking without crutches won't change anything to the fact that he's missing a leg.

I t's one thing his therapists keep insisting on, that he needs to work on his gait until it becomes “indistinguishable”. Until no one but him can tell that in place of his right foot stands an artifact of metal and plastic, and there's no trace left of the trauma he went through. Like it's something he can erase, like if other people can't see it, it will mean that it's gone.

The consequences of the war he fought−the many wars he's fought, his whole life−, the horrors he saw and participated in, the pain and the s cars , they will never be gone.  The start of a new year, of a new life maybe, won't change that. 

That's why Alex can't give Michael what he wants, whether it's a quick fling or a long term commitment.

His heart heavy, he chokes down the rest of his food. The last spoon of ice cream cake swallowed, he's already forgotten what flavor it was. The wind outside has picked up, drawing ominous noises from the cabin's wooden walls, matching Alex's mood in stark contrast with the indoor cheer.

“Bedroom,” Michael says when they stand up from the table, the determination in his eyes leaving no space for arguments.

They're painfully obvious, both crutching their way to their bedroom while the others go sit in the couch area, but they don't bother making excuses. At this point, Alex doubts even Max has missed the tension between them. He scolds himself again for ruining everyone's evening.

Michael turns around as soon as Alex closes the door behind him, almost making them both fall over. Alex catches himself on his bad leg, hissing through his teeth.

“Sorry, sorry,” Michael says. “I just need to know what you want, Alex. Please. I can't just−”

“Yeah,” Alex says. “Just let me−” he waves in the direction of his bed.

“Of course,” Michael coughs sheepishly. “Sorry.”

He limps to his own bed, barely using his crutches−noticing that makes Alex strangely sad. In a couple of days, this one thing that brought them together, Michael's injury, will be a thing of the past.

Alex drops on his bed with a sigh of relief. “I need to remove it,” he apologizes, pointing t o his leg.  The white hot sting of pain he felt when he stepped wrong isn't something he can ignore.

Michael nods, his eyes never leaving Alex's face. Alex grimaces at the thought of doing this in front of someone other than his physical therapist, but he's pretty sure Michael will explode if he asks him to leave the room.

He removes his pants, then the prosthesis as quickly as he can, keeping his eyes down. A quick check of his stump tells him that the skin broke around one of the scars, which means he'll have to go without the leg for a few days. Sighing, he puts a small band-aid on the cut and the compression sock over it.

He doesn't look at Michael until he has his pants back on with the leg pinned up. Michael hasn't made a single noise through the process, only stared at him. It's uncomfortable enough to make Alex's skin crawl, though he knows Michael probably doesn't mean to make it that way.

“I'm ready,” he says, crossing his arms over his chest.

“I get that kissing you earlier was...too soon,” Michael starts. “I'm sorry about that. I can back up, leave it there and never talk about it again, but I need to know where you stand. What do you want, Alex?”

“What I want doesn't matter,” Alex answers, looking down.

“It's all that matters. I think I made what I want pretty clear.”

Alex shakes his head. “Even if...I could, and I wanted to...what would it be to you? A holiday fling? Then we each go out separate ways?”

“Of course not!” Michael exclaims.

“Then what? We have very different lives, Michael. I doubt you're prepared to see what mine is like.”

“I don't understand.”

Alex sighs. “Do I need to spell it out for you? I'm a mess, Michael. I'm not like you.”

Michael stares at him for a moment, then starts laughing. Alex frowns uncomprehendingly. “What?”

“I'm sorry, but what on Earth do you think I'm like?” Michael says through his laughter.

“You're a genius. With a perfect job, and a good, balanced life. You deserve better than me.”

“I think you've got the wrong idea here. Isobel has the perfect life, maybe. Or Max. Not me. I grew up piss poor and alone in abusive homes or homeless. I lived in a trailer for years. My apartment is nearly empty because I can't bring myself to buy good things for myself. I keep hoarding food, and I drive a twenty-year-old truck that struggles to reach forty miles an hour.”

Alex bites his lip. “Still. You really think you want to start something with a disabled vet with PTSD?”

“I want _you_ , Alex. The rest doesn't matter.”

“It should.”

“Then...” Michael hesitates. “Then tell me. Tell me what I need to know.”

Alex doesn't know why exactly, but Michael's earnestness strikes him deeply. It seems genuine, the look on his face serious. No one has ever truly wanted to know about him, he realizes. Not like this. Not the bad parts, the shadows. Even Liz and Maria avoid bringing up his time overseas, or his father. Kyle has been a little more open to discussing things, but their relationship is still tentative.

Michael just dives straight in. It seems to be a character trait, just a natural part of him, untainted by his own bad experiences. Alex realizes that he wants to know about that, too. He wants to know the events that left their marks on Michael and the way that his inner personality shines through the carefully crafted southern charm exterior. He wants to know everything.

He is deeply, deeply fucked.

“I can't be what you want me to be,” he says.

“How about you let me be the judge of that? I don't expect anything, Alex. I want to live in the moment, and see where it takes us.”

“You said you want to build a home. You want a life, a future, something that I can't be a part of. I'll just fuck it up.”

Michael shakes his head. “I'm not looking for a future. I'm just barely scraping by, trying to put the past behind me. So, the present is more than enough for me.”

Alex closes his eyes tightly for a second, trying to breathe. His dismay is turning into anger, rage at Michael's unwillingness to understand. How can he answer this metaphorical nonsense? Can Michael not see why he can't risk this?

“You don't get it Michael! I−you need to stay away from me, 'cause I'm just gonna hurt you like I hurt everyone else! 'Cause I−I...I'm a freak!”

Michael's eyes widen at his outburst, and Alex imagines that he spoke loudly enough for their friends to hear from the living room. Immediately ashamed, he curls up on himself even more, backing himself into the corner.

Here it is, he thinks. That word, the one that loops in his head all the time. It's in his father's voice, usually, but it sounds worse in his own voice, in his own mouth. Truer. Because his father, and the people who've called him that over and over, they can say these horrible things and it doesn't make them true, it doesn't make them real, but this does. This is what Alex is.

He waits for Michael's immediate denial, the one that will prove that he doesn't understand, that he can't fathom what Alex is saying. But it doesn't come. Michael stares at him for a while in silence, his eyes bright with tears.

“But then, Alex...but then, if you're a freak, then so am I,” he says in a low voice. “So am I.”

Alex stops breathing.

“I've always felt like...like an alien, everywhere I go,” Michael continues. “As a kid, I looked at the sky hoping that someone would come and take me away. That's what got me into spaceships. But you don't make me feel that way. You make me feel like maybe there's somewhere on Earth where I belong. I know it's only been a few days, but it's honestly the first time I've ever felt that.”

Transfixed, Alex watches a tear roll down his cheek.

“So maybe you don't feel the same about me. I would understand. It's a lot. I'm...a lot. But if you do feel that too, even a little bit, then...please, don't push me away just because you think too little of yourself.”

For a s econd it feels like this should be the moment in the movies where they kiss passionately and it fades to black, but the weight pressing on Alex's chest says that it doesn't work like that in real life.

He gasps against the pressure, and realizes he's panicking. “Alex!” Michael calls. Alex wheezes. “What's happening? Okay, okay, breathe with me. Shit.”

He hops over to Alex's bed, but Alex flinches at his touch and retreats more into the corner.

“Alex.” Michael backs his hands away, but he sits down on the edge of the bed. “Breathe.”

Alex closes his eyes and starts counting. Seven. Fourteen. Twenty-one. Thirty...it's not working. He tries to forget Michael is even here, just long enough to calm down, but that doesn't work either, not when he can _feel_ him so close. So he leans into that, instead. He catches Michael's hand and holds onto it as tight as he dares as he sobs pitifully.

“There,” Michael murmurs, squeezing his hand back. “Breathe. Again. It's okay.”

It takes several more minutes for Alex to stop feeling like he's choking. He falls bonelessly back against the wall, exhausted. “Sorry,” he murmurs. Part of him is wondering why Michael hasn't bailed yet. But there's also a part of him, growing bigger every minute, that wants to believe him.  That maybe their r agged edges can somehow match and create a more complete puzzle.

Not intact, not perfect, because Alex will never be intact again. It's painfully obvious, as Michael sits in the space where his right leg should be. But maybe they can help soothe each other's wounds.

The snow outside makes soft, almost calming little noises hitting the window. Alex gives himself another moment of quiet, looking down at Michael's hand in his, before he starts talking.

“I do feel the same,” he murmurs. “I want to hold onto you and never let you go. And it scares me. I'm...I'm a mess. It's not just my leg, or even the new...trauma-related stuff, I've been...I keep pushing everyone away. Eventually, they all leave. I don't know how not to do that. If I don't let you in in the first place...then it will hurt less than watching you leave.”

“So you're pushing me away now so we don't get a chance to hurt each other down the road?”

Alex shrugs. “I'm pushing you away so you don't have to find out all the ways that I'm broken,” he whispers hoarsely.

“Alex,” Michael starts. “Uh, can I hug you?”

Alex blinks, but he nods, almost against reason. He shouldn't let Michael get closer. He shouldn't−but he's still holding Michael's hand, and suddenly Michael's other arm is around him and squeezing and warm and he melts into the embrace.

“I'm not afraid of broken,” Michael murmurs. “I'm plenty broken too.”

And that's Alex's demise, he supposes. He holds on to Michael and lets him guide them into lying on the bed fully, his arm pillowing Alex's head.

“I get nightmares,” he warns, trying to hold on to the reasons why this isn't a good idea. “And flashbacks. I react...touch is hard. I can hurt you. And some days the pain is so bad that I can barely get out of bed. Some days I can't get out of bed even though the pain isn't bad.”

“I stuff myself with food until I'm sick because I can't stand the thought of anything going to waste,” Michael says. “I get so angry about things sometimes that I break whatever's closest, even though I hate myself a minute later. Never people, though,” he adds quickly. “I hit Max a couple times when I was at my worse, but I've worked on that. Even went to therapy. And touch is hard for me too, especially if it's soft.”

Alex checks himself and tightens his hold on Michael, just a little.  Michael relaxes into his touch.

“I'm obsessive. I get into moods, and I'll work or do something for hours or days without eating or sleeping, and I snap at anyone who tries to stop me.”

“Yeah, I know that one,” Michael laughs. “I'm really bad at people. I make some people angry and I don't even know why a lot of the time. I feel like the world is too much all the time but then I get told that I'm the one who's too much.”

“You're not too much,” Alex murmurs. “Never.”

He looks away at the ceiling before sharing again. “I'm not a good person. I'll never be okay with some of the things that I did.”

“Sometimes I want the world to burn,” Michael whispers. “Sometimes I want to burn it down myself.”

They both stay silent for a minute, like this is too heavy to continue. Alex is surprised to find how much of the weight on his chest has eased. Like saying all that out loud was what he needed all along.

And Michael hasn't run yet.

“I'm petty,” Michael finally says. “I drink too much, often. I'm probably going to expect you to walk away even if you won't, and I'll push and push just to test your limits.”

“I don't like to admit it when I'm wrong,” Alex answers. “I'm always going to be waiting for the other shoe to drop. And I'm so fucking jealous sometimes that in a week you'll be out running again like nothing ever happened, and I won't.”

Michael nods. “Okay. I'm also ferociously protective. There's nothing I wouldn't do to keep the people I love safe. I love deeply and strongly and harshly. I'm good at taking care of people when they give me the chance.”

Alex bites his lip. He knows Michael expects something positive in return, but he struggles to think of anything.

“I want to give you that chance,” he offers instead. “It's hard, to trust what I want, but I want that. I want you.”

His eyes shining, Michael presses his forehead to Alex's.

“Thank you,” he murmurs. “Thank you.”

Almost of its own accord, Alex's mouth searches his. Michael growls and kisses him with a passion, his hands almost trembling on Alex's neck and back. Alex slips his own hands into his curls. “You're so beautiful,” he mutters, because he can't believe that someone like Michael wants him. Really wants him.

They break the kiss off to breathe, and Alex hears a commotion in the other room. He only tenses a little before he realizes it's almost midnight.

T heir friends are shouting the countdown , along with the TV, and Liz whoop s loudly when the ball drops .

“Happy New Year,” Alex murmurs in Michael's ear.

In a few moments, their friends will probably kick the door in and mob them with hugs and kisses, and they'll have to figure out where to go from there. But right now, Alex just wants to enjoy Michael's curls in his face and the warmth of his body, and the beautiful, breathtaking impression of _home._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope the little bit of sweetness at the end was worth all the angst! This was supposed to be all fluff...
> 
> I'm staying mysterious on whether Michael (and the pod squad) is actually an alien here, but if he came off more as autistic/neurodivergent, that's good too.
> 
> I'd love to hear your thoughts! Comments make me warm inside.


End file.
